


Think About The Way Things Might Have Been

by LauraTheMole



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Christine takes no shit, Comfort, Erik's not so secretly a dork, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Meg's the coolest character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:17:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10097648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraTheMole/pseuds/LauraTheMole
Summary: How might things have turned out if everyone had acted a little differently? This story starts right after 'Music of the Night' in the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.





	

Christine did not wake from her sleep peacefully and slowly, but with the sound of a blaringly loud organ screaming out chords. Instinctively, she yelled “OH JESUS CHRIST”, sitting up so quickly she felt slightly dizzy. Normally she would never be so blasphemous, but the sudden noise startled her (and Meg’s bad language appeared to have been starting to rub off on her).

For a moment, she had no idea where she was. She knew for certain that she was absolutely not in her own bed. Luckily the memories came back to her before she felt the need to panic. _I remember there was mist_ , she thought. _Swirling mist upon a vast and glassy lake._ _There were candles all around…_ Looking to her left she saw the mass of black candelabras standing around the room. _And on the lake there was a boat. And in the boat there was…_

A man. Standing before an organ, fingers poised over the keys. Upon seeing the scowl on his face she realised her outburst had most likely disturbed him.

“M-my apologies.” She felt the heat of embarrassment rise to her face. _Well done Christine, you imbecile._ Thankfully, he simply gave a small nod before reverting his attention back to his organ. She gave an internal sigh of relief. As if she had just disturbed The Angel of Music from his work! Making sure she was quiet, she stood up on the makeshift bed, rearranged the cushions and folded the thick, woollen blanket into a neat square. When she moved her left foot from the warm bed to the floor, however, she wished she'd stayed as she was.

The floor was cold stone, and placing her bare foot upon it caused her to make a sharp intake of breath. She'd removed the stockings she wore for the performance as soon as she entered her dressing room, and although they would have offered her little protection from the icy ground, she wished she'd kept them on.

Despite this, she placed the other foot on the stone too, waiting a moment while they adjusted slightly to the cold. There was not a carpet in sight. She sighed, pulling out a cushion and the blanket and made her way to The Angel. She stopped a few feet from him, placing the cushion on the floor and wrapping the blanket around herself before sitting cross-legged on the soft surface.

The music he played was much different to the songs he instructed her to sing. The piece was angry and dark, filled with hurt and hatred. Every few moments he would pause, picking up a quill and scratching notes onto paper. He must be composing. She had so many questions to ask of him, but thought it would be unwise to disturb him when he seemed so busy. Instead, she decided to study him with her eyes.

She hadn’t taken the time to really, truly look at him yet. Everything from when she passed through the mirror until now was like a blur, like she had been under some sort of a trance. His most noticeable feature- the mask- sat neatly over the right side of his face. _Whyever would he wear such a thing?_ It was beautiful, of course: a pure white colour, seemingly made from porcelain, with an arched eyebrow molded into it. She’d never seen a mask so beautiful in all her time at the opera house. Looking to the right, she noticed how well it matched the shape of his face- someone may as well have painted half of his face white. _It must have been made for him._ He bore a slight frown as he worked, nodding to himself whenever he played a certain series of notes before stopping to write them down. The quill moved swiftly across the paper, and Christine wondered if the music would disappear from his mind forever unless he committed it to the page as fast as he could. Her eyes trailed a path from his busy hand along his arm and to his torso. He was wearing a black dinner jacket, under which was a white shirt, topped with a black waistcoat and white bow tie. A rather fetching ensemble.

“Have you finished your observations?” Christine flushed, eyes snapping back to his face. He hadn’t looked up. Before she could speak, he answered for her. “I could feel your eyes on me.”

“I-I-I do apologise, Angel! How very rude of me.” She looked down, staring at floor. He continued to write for a minute or so before returning his quill to the pot of ink sat upon the organ and turning his attention to the girl sat on his floor.

“Christine.” She felt her chest tighten. “Are you afraid?” Her head lifted up.

“Afraid of what, Angel?” He gestured towards himself with a hand. _Afraid of The Angel of Music? How could I be?_ And yet, she knew it was somewhat true. She had just told Meg how frightened she was, frightened of the unseen angel who sees all. _But...he is not unseen anymore. Here he is, standing right before me!_ “I...was very afraid. Before I...um, met you? I feel a little calmer now.” He nodded, then proceeded to walk towards her. She fought back the urge to flinch. Ok maybe I’m not that calm. To her surprise, she was offered a hand.

“You cannot carry on sitting on the floor as if you were some stray dog. Come.” She gently took his hand in hers, standing up and abandoning her cushion and blanket. Once again the cold floor pierced through her bare feet, causing her to make a small noise in the back of her throat and shiver. He looked down at her.

“S-s-sorry, A-angel.” She looked up at him, expecting an impatient glare, but instead received a look of concern.

“You are cold.” It wasn’t a question but she answered him anyway.

“Y-yes. V-v-very.” With his free hand he reached underneath the organ and pulled out a cushioned stool, which he then motioned for her to sit on. She obliged, holding herself and rubbing her hands over her upper arms once he had released her hand. Her feet dangled above the ground slightly, and she thanked the lord that she was a little shorter than average. After a few moments, she felt the comforting warmth of the woolen blanket drape around her shoulders, followed by the cushion resting under her feet. _Angel…_ He returned to the front of the organ, picking up the quill once more. “Thank you.” He turned to see her smiling at him. Christine watched with a puzzled expression as he brought his hand to cover his mouth, before sharply turning his face away. How peculiar.

“You...are most welcome.” He continued to face away from her, scribbling something down on the paper before him. Then he paused. “Are you...are you warm enough?” She buried herself deeper into the blanket, continuing to smile at the back of his head.

“A lot warmer. Thank you, Angel.” He nodded.

“I am glad.” It seemed that with every sentence he produced, more of the fear Christine still had melted away. It felt good to speak with him and know where his voice was coming from. She couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with the fact that he had to stand while she sat, though.

“Angel?” At first he was silent, then offered a slight noise of affirmation. “Would you not prefer to sit? I could stand instead, I’m not an invalid.” Again, silence, but then he turned his head towards her.

“You are most kind. However I am fine, I would much prefer it if you sat instead.” She nodded. Although she offered, she was glad she didn’t have to move from her comfortable spot.

“Okay.”

“Christine?” He had put his quill down and was now sat fiddling with the buttons of his sleeve.

“Yes?” He took a deep breath. “Are you aware that I...that I am not...I am not an angel?” She blinked a few times.

“Oh.”

“I apologise greatly for telling such a lie but I your voice was so beautiful and I wanted to teach you and when I appeared to you you called me ‘The Angel of Music’ and for some reason I accepted the title and I wanted to tell you but then more and more time went by and I had to keep up the lie and-” His voice broke off when he felt a soft hand placed on his hand. He was sure, absolutely sure, that she was about to call him a liar, a deceiver, a cad. But when he forced himself to look at her, she was smiling. Smiling at him!

“I had my suspicions. Don’t worry, I feel no ill will towards you.” She giggled to herself. “Meg was only just telling me that The Angel of Music doesn’t exist. She was right all along, wasn’t she?” He had heard mentions of the girl once or twice during their singing lessons.

“It would appear so...you truly are not outraged that I told such a lie? And for so long?” She shook her head.

“Not at all. I forgive you.” He quickly turned away, hiding his face once more.

Neither of them spoke for a little while after that. She was content to sit with her formerly anonymous teacher, knowing that he was no longer a frightening, omniscient being, but simply a man. He continued to compose, frequently switching between the organ and the quill. As she listened to the scratching of the quill, Christine’s mind began to wander. She had so, so many questions for her tutor, and yet the biggest of all was the matter of his identity. _Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?_ He had already told her his big secret, so what else could he possibly be hiding behind that mask? It’s probably some sort of costume for the whole ‘Angel of Music’ thing. She grinned to herself about that. _He won’t be needing it now then!_

She inched slightly further to her left on the stool, and began to reach over to the mask. Closer...closer-

“DAMN YOU!” She yelped, withdrawing her hand and leaning away. He picked his quill up off of the floor, glaring at it, then whispering “curse you…” She put her hand to her chest and calmed herself down. _What was I thinking?_ There must be a reason why her tutor chose to wear a mask, and regardless of what that reason is, she decided to not pry further and respect his privacy. “Christine, what time do you wish to leave?” She glanced around the room in search of a clock, but to no avail.

“What time is it?” He pulled up his sleeve.

“Twenty three minutes past 2.” She gasped, leaping up off the stool.

“In the morning?!” He nodded. She began to remove the blanket from around herself. “I had no idea, I must be going. Meg will think something dreadful has happened to me.” He nodded once more, before donning his hat and cloak and fetching a lantern.

“There is a faster path this way. Come.” She followed hurriedly after him, holding herself in an attempt to keep away the cold. After a few minutes, he stopped walking, almost causing Christine to walk straight into his back. He removed his cloak, draping it around her shoulders, as he did with the blanket earlier that night. “It should be warm now.” She smiled broadly at him, quickly putting on the garment which was, as he said, very warm.

The pair continued to walk for a little while before they came to a rocky wall. With the pull of a lever, the wall slowly began to shift, allowing a space through which they could exit. “Turn left as soon as you exit this place and you will be there.” She thanked him, and made an attempt to remove his cloak before he stopped her. “No, you may give it back when you…” He looked down at the floor for a moment, before returning his focus to her face. “Christine?”

“Yes?”

“Do you...want to come here again?” Again, she smiled at him.

“On one condition.” He nodded vigorously.

“Anything!”

“That you tell me your name.” His eyes grew wide as he stared at her, his mouth dropping open slightly. There was a brief moment where she was worried she had done something wrong, but then she heard him clear his throat slightly, and when she looked at him, she could have sworn that even in the low light, there was a hint of pink on his face.

“Erik. My name is Erik.”

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? It's my first post on AO3 so I hope you all thought it was ok! :3 I'm trying to stay in the canon world as much as I possibly can, but I will tweak little things slightly, and write some things that weren't mentioned in the musical. Here are most of the more important things that are different to the musical:
> 
> Christine was woken up by Erik's VERY loud music, so this was several hours before she was originally woken up in the musical by a quiet little monkey music box.
> 
> Christine! Doesn't! Remove! The! Mask! So naturally both of them have much better opinions of each other.
> 
> Erik tells Christine that he is not an angel. He felt more and more ashamed of his lie once she had actually seen him and kept calling him 'Angel', so he had to tell her the truth.
> 
> Erik is warm! In the original book I know he's more skeletal and 'monstrous' but I believe that in the musical he's just a (very deformed) man. He's just used to colder temperatures because of the time he has spent underground.
> 
> Christine lives in one of a number of rooms set aside for the young female dancers of the opera house. Meg is her roommate.


End file.
